<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>
<BODY.CONTENT>
<UID>
8901020019
</UID>
<PUBLICATION>
DETROIT FREE PRESS
</PUBLICATION>
<DATE>
890108
</DATE>
<TDATE>
Sunday, January 08, 1989
</TDATE>
<EDITION>
METRO FINAL
</EDITION>
<SECTION>
SPT
</SECTION>
<PAGE>
1D
</PAGE>
<ILLUSTRATION>

</ILLUSTRATION>
<CAPTION>

</CAPTION>
<BYLINE>
MITCH ALBOM
</BYLINE>
<AFFILIATION>

</AFFILIATION>
<MEMO>

</MEMO>
<COPYRIGHT>
Copyright (c) 1989, Detroit Free Press
</COPYRIGHT>
<HEADLINE>
NOTHING IS FOREVER, BUT SNEPSTS ENDURES
</HEADLINE>
<SUBHEAD>

</SUBHEAD>
<CORRECTION>

</CORRECTION>
<BODY>
The man was hunched over the bar, his back to the crowd. A blond woman
kept coming up to him. He would smile, then look down at his glass, until
finally she went away.

  "You know who he is,"  someone said.

  "Who?" 
  "That guy. That's Harold Snepsts."
  I looked again. It was Harold Snepsts. This was last summer, a week or so
after hockey season ended. I walked over.
  I said,  "Hey."
  He looked up wearily. Then, upon recognizing a familiar face, he smiled.
  "Did you hear the news?" he asked.
  "What news?"
  He made a thumbs-down motion. "I'm out. They let me  go."
  I did a double take. In all the time I had  been covering sports, I don't
think I ever had encountered an athlete on the day he was fired. Usually, by
the time you find out, the guy is halfway  across the country. 
  But here was Snepsts, alone, nursing a beer, taking it in stride. He said
he knew it was coming. The Red Wings had  young players who deserved a chance.
He was, after all, almost  34. 
  "Nothing is forever," he said. "I've had some great times in Detroit.
Maybe I'll come back here to live if no other team wants me."
  He sighed. I thought about all the people around the country who hated
Snepsts, called him dirty, figured he was nothing more than a brute on skates.
Here he was, by himself, in a restaurant bar, talking gently about the end of
the line.
  He offered  to buy me a beer.
  I wished him well and left.
Success leads to pressure
  Snepsts was part of a Red Wing spirit that made us fall in love with them.
Those first two years under Jacques Demers were magnetic, anyone with a dream
could relate to them. Out of the basement the Wings  rose, suddenly winning,
suddenly proud, suddenly crawling around the attics of teams like the Edmonton
Oilers.  They were young. They were hungry. They were electric.
  But nothing is forever. So the Wings, with pockets full of success, began
this season aspiring to a Stanley Cup. And then came trouble. No  longer
sparkling, no longer the innocent darlings of a hockey-starved city, they were
erratic, they lost concentration, and as the mediocre results mounted, they
became the object of criticism. Happy  talk shifted to groans about trades and
shake-ups. Players were cut. Bob Probert is  on the trading block.
  "Where is that lost spirit?" people wonder. "What happened?"
  It was in the midst of  all this, that I spoke again with Snepsts. He was
back in town Friday, playing hockey, but in a different uniform. He had found
work with the Vancouver Canucks, where he had played for 10 years before
coming to Detroit. 
  "They like me up there," he said, in his hotel room at the Westin. "It's a
young team. But this will be my last year. I'm sure of that."
  I had not seen him since that night  in the restaurant. I asked whether
he had  been following the Wings since his departure.
  "Yes," he said. "I'm disappointed. Wherever you go around the country, the
only news you hear about Detroit  is how good Yzerman is, or how much trouble
Probert and Petr Klima are causing. It's a shame.
  "What I always loved about playing here was how close we were as a team.
We did everything together.  There wasn't a person who disliked anyone else on
our team."
  He paused. "I guess you get successful and there's more pressure. The
first year we were just happy to turn it around. The second year  we were
after first place. This year everyone expected more."
Another time, another uniform
  Talking to Snepsts was reassuring, like seeing someone from your old
neighborhood. I remember how the  crowds in Toronto and Chicago used to howl
his name in the now infamous "HAARRRR- OLLLD!" chant, and how he'd just grin
with a sinister look and smash somebody, and the younger players on the Wings
would look at him after the game, wide-eyed.  "That Snepsy," they'd say. "He's
unbelievable."
  It was a different time. And now Snepsts is in a different uniform. But
while his reputation has always been  of a nasty player, anyone who knows him
knows he is a gentleman, well- spoken, easygoing, with good character for a
hockey team. The Canucks have him rooming with Trevor Linden, their star
rookie, figuring  Snepsts can teach him about NHL life.
  "I'm doing fine, I'm happy," Snepsts said.
  I thought back to that night when he was cut, sitting with his beer,
alone. Somehow, even then, he seemed OK.
  Why not? A hockey coach once said, "Success is fleeting, fame is a vapor,
and in the end, all that endures is character." Snepsts has that character.
And if the Red Wings have as much as we once thought,  they will rise through
their current woes and return to form.
  "You know I always wanted to ask you," I said, "what did you do that night
after I left the bar?"
  "I finished my beer and went  home," he said, shrugging. "Why? What did
you think?"
  I said that was exactly what I thought.
  
  Mitch Albom's sports talk show "The Sunday Sports Albom" airs tonight,
9-11, on WLLZ 98.7-FM.  Guests: Jacques Demers and Leroy Hoard.
</BODY>
<DISCLAIMER>

</DISCLAIMER>
<KEYWORDS>
COLUMN;HAROLD SNEPSTS
</KEYWORDS>
</BODY.CONTENT>
